


The Girl Can't Help It

by WindySuspirations



Series: Oakmoss and Elderflower [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Pining, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 05:00:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10586949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindySuspirations/pseuds/WindySuspirations
Summary: This was inspired by a comment on my ficOakmoss & Elderflowerand involves the healer who is tasked with tending to a certain blond-haired Commander, as mentioned in that fic.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Apache_wells_66 said that they were intrigued by “the girl who usually does this for me” as mentioned in my fic, [ Oakmoss and Elderflower](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10369740). This fic is the result of the of the little plot bunnies they set to jumping in my head. Also, I suck at titles, so yeah.
> 
> I don’t know if anything further will come out of this, and this is my first honest attempt at a non-inquisitor OC, so I honestly have no idea what I am doing. I am happy with the way this turned out, happy in a way that I have not been with my recent attempts, but again, I don’t know if this even works for anyone. 
> 
> I’d love it if you all would tell me what you think of this. I have some ideas for a longer fic involving this character, Cullen, and my Inquisitor, but I don’t know if there would be any interest in something like that. So, please, let me know. Kudos, comments, and constructive criticism are all welcome! Thanks.

Eala hurried along the battlements, the chill evening wind lifting her hair from her shoulders. If she didn’t hurry, she would be late, and even though he wouldn’t scold her for it, she would feel bad about making him wait for her. She remembered the first time she had attended him as if it were yesterday. She had been so intimidated by his very presence that she could do little but respond to him in squeaked “yes, Sers” and no, Sers.”

But he had smiled at her, a genuine smile that had crinkled the corners of his eyes, and explained what he needed her to do. He had been gentle, kind, and perhaps even a little sheepish at requiring such a service, and that had put her at ease right away. And because of this, since that night in Haven, she had begun to look forward to their twice-daily sessions.

Now, she knocked crisply upon his office door before opening it and entering his tower. As was usual, the Commander sat behind his desk,  elbow deep in reports. He looked up and smiled at her. “Ah, Eala, there you are. Give me a moment.” He scribbled something on a paper, then stood up and stretched. “You have no idea how much I need you tonight,” he said, coming around his desk.

“Yes, Ser, I can see that,” she replied. Indeed, his features were lined with fatigue and his mouth was set with what she knew to be pain. Others thought him overly stern, but she knew better. He had been working himself even harder than usual, and she wanted to scold him for not taking better care of himself. But that was not her place. Instead, she continued in the same professional mien “Shall we go upstairs, then?”

“After you, Healer Eala.” He gestured to the ladder leading to his loft with one hand,  a smirk lifting one corner of his mouth. Maker, he was so handsome when he did that. She thought her heart might melt at the sight of it, but she schooled her expression and climbed the ladder, proceeding immediately to a small chest on top of one of his bedside tables.

As she took out the small jar of cream from the chest, he had climbed up and started to remove his armor. Setting down the jar, she turned to help him with his vambraces. “So, Commander..” She pulled free the left one, set it down, and began unlatching his left pauldron. “I take it your day was hectic?”

He sighed, pulling off his right pauldron and beginning to work on his chest plate. “You know that I would rather you didn’t call me that in private, Eala. Cullen will do.” She blushed. He had no idea about why she insisted on remaining so formal with him, no idea that it was to keep her wayward heart from tripping down a path that would only lead to pain. “But to answer your question, hectic does not even begin to describe it.”

He went on to describe his day to her, telling her about the new recruits that seemed to be greener than ever before, about the irritating nobles and their requests for protection, or complaints about this or that. He spoke of his frustrations in dealing with Ambassador Montilyet and the Nightingale regarding Inquisition resources and strategies for the near future.

“Can you believe the Ambassador suggested delaying my soldiers’ arrival  so that she had time to send letters of inquiry to the Comte or whatever passes for nobility in Orlais?” He started to shake his head but raised his hand to squeeze the back of his neck instead, his expression twisting in a wince. “Bloody nobles. They never fail to give me a headache.”

She smiled and nodded, but said nothing. Instead, she took his chest plate from him to place it on the armor stand in the corner of the room. She knew he wasn’t looking for a response from her;  sometimes she felt that her listening to him vent was as much a part of treating him as rubbing down his muscles. She liked listening to his voice, anyway; it was smooth and deep, and his crisp, educated Fereldan accent made her tingle all over in very unseemly ways. Thrusting those sort of thoughts from her mind, she turned away to allow him to strip off the rest of his clothes and slip into the loose linen trousers he slept in.

“I’m decent,” he called, and she turned around to find him stretched face down on his bed. Her cheeks heated as she recalled that first time, and how matter-of-fact he had been about undressing in front of her.  She had turned quickly away, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t make fun of her for being silly or make a big deal out of her reticence to see him in the nude. After that, he made sure that she had time to turn away before he took off his pants.

She took the jar and knelt beside his prone form and started applying the cream to his skin. She worked from his lower back up, making sure to massage the pleasant smelling ungent in completely.  It was a strangely intimate task, and she understood why he had specifically asked for a female healer. It would probably feel too strange to have another male touch him thus, even though it _was_ strictly clinical.

Yet, an electric thrill ran down her spine when she touched him, one she could not suppress no matter how hard she tried. She moved up the column of his spine, increasing the pressure wherever she felt any tightness and tension. The muscles of his back rippled beautifully as she worked the aches out. She was sure it wasn’t right for her to feel this way; she didn’t feel like this when she treated anyone else who came by the infirmary. Only him. But then all the girls in Skyhold gazed at him longingly; she wasn’t alone.

By the time she reached his shoulders and neck, the Commander was snoring softly, the lines of tension and pain on his face erased by sleep. She resisted the urge to lean down and kiss his stubbly cheek before she wiped her fingers on a scrap of cloth and quietly replaced the jar in its chest. She sighed. Would that things were different. Would that she was someone else, someone who he could notice.

She chanced one last look at the sleeping man on the bed; he had shifted, turning onto his back, arms carelessly flung out to the sides. His broad chest rose and fell with his breathing, the candlelight playing along its curves and valleys and glinting on its sprinkling of golden hairs. Her breath caught in her throat and she forced herself to swallow as she turned away and slid down the ladder to his office, then out into the chilly Frostback night.

***************************************************

The following night there had been a scuffle at the Herald’s Rest resulting in a rash of injuries that kept her and the other healers busy until the wee hours of the morning. She’d hated to do it, but she’d sent a runner to the Commander with a note that she could not treat him that night and that she would see him in the morning.

That night, she dreamed about him. He was waiting for her on the battlements and the setting sun turned his blond waves the color of summer wheat. As he turned toward her, she could see that he wasn’t wearing his usual armor; instead, he wore a white shirt with billowy sleeves that fluttered in the wind and tight black pants that clung to his muscular legs like a second skin.

He held a hand out to her, and when she took it, he drew her close to him. He gazed down at her, his golden eyes shimmering in the fading light. Raising her plump-fingered hand to his lips, he brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

He smiled that soft smile that she knew was only for her and reached down to tip her chin up toward him. “May I kiss you, my sweet Eala?”

“Oh, yes, Cullen, please do,” she whispered, and her eyes slid closed as he leaned down and kissed her gently. It was just a touch of lips at first, before both his hands caught her cheeks and held her as he deepened the kiss, angling his mouth over hers and sliding his tongue past her willing lips.

He tasted of peppermint with a hint of his favorite ale, and the scent of oakmoss and elderflower enveloped her as he pulled her closer to him still. Her arms went around his neck, and she buried her fingers in the waves at the back of his head.

They stood like that for what seemed like hours, lips sucking, teeth nibbling, and tongues touching. Finally, after one last suck on her bottom lip, he raised his head and smirked down at her. “What do you say to taking this somewhere more private, sweetling?”

Her heart had swelled so large that it was stuck in her throat and she could only nod her head excitedly. She gave a cry as he swept her up in his arms and carried her to his tower. Just before they got there, unfortunately, Eala woke, sweat covering her body and her core aflame with desire.

“Maker’s breath,” she swore, sitting up in her bed, panting. Getting up, she doused herself with the cool water in her ewer and frowned at her bedraggled figure in the mirror above it in disgust.  Plump cheeks, ample bosom, thick waist, and a short stature did not exactly inspire men to fawn over her like they did her slimmer and taller friends. Least of all men who looked like Cullen Rutherford.

Gathering her long black hair into a thick braid that trailed down her back, she tried to put her dream of the Commander out of her mind. She had to see him today, and it would not do for her to moon after him like a lovesick calf.

She found the Commander still upstairs in his bed later that morning, like all of the other mornings she had tended him, already awake and reading reports, a mug of hot tea sitting on his bedside table.

“Good morning, Ser,” she greeted him, scrutinizing him closely. He looked good: well-rested in a way that was rare for him: his cheeks had color, and his eyes were bright.“I must apologize again for missing your treatment last night,” she started to say, but he interrupted her.

“It’s fine, Eala,” he said, and he took a sip of his tea. “Truly. You had other matters to see to.”

She got out the jar of cream, and he promptly set his work aside and lay down on his stomach for her. “Well, it appears you passed the night well,” she observed, scooping out a bit of the fragrant cream and smearing it on his back.

“Yes,” he wiggled as she spread more of the cool cream on his flesh. “Fortunately the Inquisitor happened by here last night, and she was able to take care of my neck and shoulders .”

She paused. The Inquisitor. The beautiful, willowy, platinum blonde elf who had captivated everyone at Skyhold, not only with her considerable good looks but also with her charm and apparent selflessness. Indeed, there was a warmth in the Commander’s voice when he spoke of her, and that told Eala all she needed to know.

When she resumed her ministrations, she pressed down on the Commander’s back muscles with more force than was required and he gave a soft huff of breath. “Easy, lass, you’re not meant to leave bruises,” he admonished, and she immediately eased up on the pressure.

“Sorry, Commander,” she kept her voice calm, but inside she was a whirl of emotions — emotions she had no right to feel.  Anger, hurt, and Maker help her, jealousy coiled in her stomach, and she didn’t know whether she wanted to scream or cry.

How, she did not know, but she managed to finish the Commander’s treatment without either pitching a fit or bursting into uncontrollable tears. She put away the salve and flew down the ladder before he could even thank her. She needed to escape, to go somewhere where no one could find her, and she could not look at him right now,  could not stand to see the thankful, earnest look in his leonine eyes when she longed to see them turn molten with passion.

But they never would. And despite all of her precautions, despite knowing it could only end in heartbreak for her, she had been foolish enough to lose her heart to him; to lose her heart to a man who would never see her as anything other than a healer, a servant assigned a task.

Once she got outside his tower, she gave up all pretense of decorum and ran as fast as her short legs could carry her. She ran for all she was worth, no longer fighting the tears that now streamed down her round cheeks. Down into the bowels of the keep, she went until she found a quiet corner where no one could hear her sobs. She let her body slide down the wall, and she curled into a ball on the dusty floor and cried like she had never cried before.

She was in love with Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford, and he would never know — must never know. Eala knew her place, and it was not beside the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces.


End file.
